A series of ficlets depicting some of Harry and Tom's many lives as part of their endless cycle of reincarnation in To Live is the Rarest Thing. Read that story first, or this won't make sense.
Life #154: That time Tom and Harry were mob bosses
Life # 50: That time Harry and Tom were sorcerers in Kamar Taj (with surprise guest stars!)
Life # 90: That time Harry and Tom faced a zombie apocalypse.
Life # 35: That time Harry and Tom were vampire slayers
Thanks for reading! Your comments and support keep me writing.
Life #154: That time Tom and Harry were mob bosses
Queens, New York, 1936
They met at a party when Tom was twenty-one and Harry was sixteen.
"So," Harry said, standing with his back to the wall. He gestured around the room with the bottle of beer in his hand. "Guess we're mobsters this life."
"Guess we are," Tom replied with an unconcerned shrug.
All around them, New York's most vicious criminals were socializing with plenty of alcohol, Cuban cigars and loud stories. The air around them was thick with smoke and filled with raised voices and abundant laughter.
"So what's your connection?" Tom asked, briefly glancing at Harry.
"My father," Harry gestured towards a short, corpulent man to the right who was drunkenly hitting on a waitress who seemed not at all amused with the attention. "Joseph Campania. He just became a Captain for the Luciano Family. You?"
Tom discreetly pointed out a tall man sitting to their left, talking with big gestures while all around him men at that table laughed. "My father, Salvatore Colombo. He's been a Captain for the Maranzano Family for a few years now. I'm Paul, by the way. Paul Colombo."
"Tony Campania," Harry said with a quick smile. "Nice to meet ya."
"Likewise." Tom fell quiet for a few moments before giving Harry an apologetic look. "I'm married. Her name's Mia. She's pregnant with our first. Three more months to go."
"Congrats," Harry said sincerely while several opposing emotions whirled through him. "Hey, I understand," he added quickly, taking in Tom's eyes that were shining with regret. "We've been over this, babe, time and again in life after life. There's no way we could work as two guys in 1930s New York, especially not if we want to work our way up in the mafia. We need wives, if only to maintain our cover of being healthy, hot-blooded, Italian guys."
"You're right, of course," Tom conceded while sipping his drink. Whiskey, as far as Harry could tell.
Harry took a swig of his beer. "I've got my eyes on a girl. Lucia. She's the daughter of another Captain. Pretty thing, but not afraid of anything and rumour has it she can cook like nobody's business."
"We should get together some time then, a double date? Mia and I can chaperone for you and Lucia," Tom said and took another swig, finishing his drink. "I always enjoy going to the movies in this era."
"Sure, I'd love that." Harry inhaled a deep breath, letting all his new memories settle and going over everything going on in his current life. "And yeah, there's something so damned nostalgic about black and white thirties movies, isn't there? We could have dinner after at Bennie's, on Linden Boulevard. Great food but not too expensive."
"It's a date." Tom signalled a waitress over and asked her for drinks for them both. Harry quickly finished the last of the beer while the waitress returned after a few minutes with fresh consumptions. Tom gave her a generous tip which she accepted with a saucy wink before darting off.
"So what do you have going on right now?" Tom asked while they both sidestepped a pair of drunken, stumbling guys looking for the can.
"I'm still just an errand boy, just quit school. My mom was pissed, but my dad supports me. Wants to see me do well in the family." Harry quickly waved at a few guys he knew, who were gesturing at him to come join them. "But I got some small jobs lined up that will hopefully make me a soldier soon."
"Yeah, you got to get your hands dirty for that," Tom agreed quietly. "I made it to soldier last year. Took care of a guy who refused to pay back some money the boss loaned him. Gave him cement shoes."
Harry chuckled while shaking his head. "I can't believe that's an actual thing. It's like we're living in the Godfather movies."
"Yes," Tom agreed with a laugh. "It really is."
Queens, New York, 1946
Harry had his second son, Paulie in his lap while his oldest, Frankie, sat beside him. The youngest, Luca, sat in Lucia's lap as they enjoyed the amazing chicken cacciatore Lucia had cooked them. The rumours about her culinary skills were not exaggerated, and Harry had put on thirty pounds at least during the first year of their marriage and he had zero regrets. Anyone tasting her lasagne and tiramisu would agree with him, without a doubt. Even Tom had stopped teasing him once he'd tasted Lucia's stuffed mushrooms.
There was urgent banging on the front door of their brownstone, two bedroom apartment. Harry was saving up to buy them a house, but so far he'd only made it to soldier and while he made a pretty good income, life in New York with a family, even in the forties, wasn't cheap.
Harry put Paulie down in his own chair and slid his plate closer. "Finish your dinner, buddy," he said while pressing a quick kiss to his black curls. With a quick nod at a wide-eyed Lucia, Harry walked into the hallway, pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet and got out his .38 Colt revolver he kept there.
"Who is it?" Harry asked loudly, keeping his gun at his side.
"It's me," Tom answered, sounding terribly congested for some reason. Harry had seen him just that morning and he'd been fine.
Harry stuffed the gun in the waistband of his pants and opened the door. "Jesus, what happened?"
Tom was covered in blood. The left side of his face was coated in blood spatters, as was the front of his white shirt and grey coat. "It's not mine. They just wacked my dad in the car while he was stopped at a traffic light. I was sitting beside him. The motherfuckers got away, too."
Lucia came walking into the hallway, Luca on her hip. "Paul, you want me to make you a plate…what happened? You all right?"
"Not his. They got his Pa," Harry quickly said, while gesturing towards the kitchen with his chin. "Keep the kids there, I'll help Paul clean up."
"I don't want to clean up, I want to fucking kill the fuckers who did this," Tom all but growled. "I couldn't even stay with the body because the fucking cops were on their way, sirens everywhere."
"We'll get them," Harry promised, holding onto Tom's elbow and leading him into the small bathroom. He closed the door and locked it. The kids were way too small to see a man covered in blood. "I promise you, I will help you track down the scum that did this, but you gotta get clean. You can't walk around looking like this, pal."
"It was the Valachi brothers, those scumbags. They've been trying to poach on my dad's territory for years. I recognized one of them as they sped away in their car, fucking cowards." Tom let Harry pull off his coat and shirt and undershirt, which Harry stuffed in the garbage can. There was no way to get that much blood out.
There was a knock on the door. Harry opened it a crack. Lucia stood on the other side, holding out a clean shirt and undershirt. "Thanks, sweetheart," Harry whispered while blowing her a kiss. Lucia rolled her eyes but still smiled as she turned to go back to the kids.
"You don't deserve that woman," Tom commented while Harry plugged the sink and filled it with water. They were lucky to have a bathroom with a toilet and running water. It was still considered somewhat of a luxury in those days, but with three kids and a fourth one on the way, it was something Harry was all too happy to splurge on.
"Oh, trust me, I know. She's far too good for me." Harry grinned at Tom and offered him a washcloth and a bar of soap. Tom got to work while Harry leaned against the door. It was strange, he mused, being married to someone else while you had a perfectly good soulmate right there. Harry loved Lucia, he really did. She was a good wife, strong-willed but loyal to a fault, not afraid to get her hands dirty but also not asking too many questions about Harry's work. Yes, Harry loved her, yet she couldn't compare to Tom, no matter how wonderful a wife she made. That wasn't her fault, that was just their strange circumstances. Harry knew Tom felt similarly about his wife Mia, who was also a fine woman who genuinely loved Tom and their kids.
After Tom was cleaned up and dressed in the too big for him clothes from Harry, they made their way to the kitchen where the kids were just finishing up their dinner.
"I called Mia," Lucia said as she stood leaning against the counter. "Told her what happened. She said to be careful and she won't expect you back anytime soon."
Tom stepped up to Lucia, placed both hands on the side of her head and pressed a kiss to each cheek. "You are a godsend, woman. Tony doesn't know how lucky he is."
Lucia rubbed a hand up and down Tom's arm. "I'm sorry for your loss, Paul."
Meanwhile, Harry kissed all his kids and finally his wife. The lives they led were violent and could end at pretty much any moment, as the whole nasty situation with Tom's father just then proved, and once Harry had started his family he'd vowed to always say goodbye to them before leaving, to never miss an opportunity to let them know he loved them.
"Stay safe, both of you," Lucia said as she stood in the doorway, hand curled around the front door as Harry and Tom walked down the hallway to the stairs.
"Don't wait up, sweetheart," Harry called over his shoulder and then followed Tom down the stairs. "I got plenty of guns in the car."
They almost bumped into Harry's downstairs neighbour, a veteran of the war who'd lost an arm in the pacific theatre. Both Tom and Harry had gotten out of military service by bribing a few doctors to create a whole fake medical history for them. Harry suddenly had severe asthma and Tom came down with a childhood case of scoliosis and slumbering TB. Not that Harry and Tom minded killing Nazis. They had, in several lives. But this life they were mobsters and they wanted to put their time and effort into that, and being shipped off to end up killed in the war would prematurely put a stop to the plans they had, so they simply skipped the whole affair.
"Where are the Valachi brothers at?" Harry asked as he sat down behind the wheel of his car. Tom ripped open the glove compartment and pulled out a few guns and then felt under the passenger seat and found two more. He handed Harry two of them and placed the rest on his own person.
"Usually, the Sunset Club." Tom stared straight ahead, keeping one gun in his lap, finger close to the trigger.
"Then let's go and smoke the fuckers." Harry turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. It was funny, kind of, how Harry used to be such a goody two shoes who wouldn't ever even consider killing someone, for any reason.
That had changed quickly enough, though. In life number nine, when they'd been samurai in feudal Japan, Harry had killed a few people already before he got his memories back and by then he'd already lived so many lives he didn't look at death the same way as he'd once did. From there on he'd moved on to monster hunting in life number fourteen, and while the monsters weren't humans, they were still sentient beings in their own way, and Harry had no problem killing them.
After that there had been instances of killing others during military service, tribal wars and yes, as criminals who whacked each other, eventually.
Death became meaningless in some ways, if you knew you'd just be reincarnated anyway, so why wouldn't you kill other people if you thought you could get away with it?
So far, the life they were living as mobsters was very much like living in a movie. Both Harry and Tom enjoyed the heck out of it, even if it was violent and bloody and you always had to watch over your shoulders for the police and the feds. It was still an interesting life to lead, a welcome distraction from their usual lives in which they got married, had a bunch of kids and tried to find meaningful jobs to pay the bills. Not that they didn't enjoy those lives, because they did, but trying something new every once in a while kept things fresh.
So the idea of gunning down some morons who thought it a good idea to kill Tom's dad didn't bother Harry one bit.
As they turned into the street where the Sunset Club was at, another black car cut them off, forcing Harry to pound on the brakes while driving half up the curb.
"What the fuck!" Harry yelled as Tom pointed his gun at the car through the windshield.
Tom's older brother Vito got out of the car, followed by their cousin Vinnie. Tom lowered his gun and jumped out of the car as well.
"Boss says no," Vito said to Tom, whose whole face tightened in obvious anger.
"Those fuckers killed Pa," Tom said through gritted teeth, waving his gun at the Sunset Club just a couple of yards away. "I was there, Vito."
"I know," Vito said, looking equally as angry as Tom. "But the boss says no. Says we can't afford a war with the Moretti family right now."
"So they just get away with it?" Tom paced in front of the car while Harry got half out of it, keeping one foot on the step while leaning on the opened car door. Harry felt for Tom at that moment, but if the boss said you couldn't whack a guy, you couldn't whack a guy, no matter how much they deserved it. Ignoring a boss' orders was suicide, literally.
"For now. But we won't forget it, Paulie." Vito cleared his throat and reached inside his coat for a pack of smokes. He lit one with a golden Zippo. "I'm taking over as Captain, the Boss already approved it."
Tom nodded while staring at the ground, his whole body trembling with fury he was desperately trying to hold back. "Fine. See you tomorrow." And without looking at anyone, Tom got back into the car.
"Sorry for your loss, Vito," Harry called before getting back into the car as well.
"Thanks, Tony. Look after my brother, will you?" Vito gestured at the stoic figure in Harry's car with his cigarette, trailing smoke through the darkness.
"Sure, I'll take him someplace nice, get him drunk, find some hot broads." Harry had no intention of doing any of those things, but you had to keep up appearances as a mobster.
"That'll cheer him up," Vito agreed easily. "I'm going to mom's, start preparing for pa's funeral."
"Give her my condolences. Good luck, Vito." And with that Harry closed the car door and started the engine.
It wasn't until they were driving aimlessly for fifteen minutes that Tom finally spoke again.
"How the hell did Vito get the boss to approve him as Captain so soon?" Tom turned in his seat to stare at Harry. "There are at least five other guys older and more experiences who are next in line to become a captain. Dad hasn't been dead for more than three hours and already Vito is the new Captain?"
"Huh." Harry looked out the window and slowed the car down for a red traffic light. "You think Vito had something to do with this? And the boss, too?"
"Maybe," Tom whispered, brow furrowed in some serious thought. "But why?"
As it turned out, the answer to that was women.
Right after the funeral, during the gathering at Tom's mother's house, Tom sidled up to Harry. "It's fucking whores."
"I have no idea what you're talking about but please don't spoil my appetite," Harry mumbled as he loaded his plate with the many dishes available. Tom's family had many excellent cooks as well. His Aunt Sophia's chicken parmesan was legendary and Harry made sure he got a generous portion of that.
"Why they whacked him," Tom whispered urgently in Harry's ear. Behind them, Lucia and Mia were chattering and thankfully not paying attention to their conversation. "Dad always thought operating brothels was distasteful, even if he couldn't keep it in his own pants for two minutes. His body wasn't even buried yet and Vito has already opened three of them with the boss' backing."
"So it was business," Harry said while filling his plate with more lasagne. There was no such things as too much lasagne, as far as he was concerned. "Your dad refused to open new businesses and the boss decided to go with the son so they could make some money together."
"Sure, it was business," Tom quietly agreed. "But Vito had our pa killed for money." Tom glared across the room at Vito, who stood entertaining a few other Captains and their wives with tall tales and many shots of whiskey. "If he thinks he's getting away with that, he needs to think again."
"You've got to play this smart," Harry urged him before taking a bite of chicken parmesan. Holy fuck, that was so good. Harry added another portion to his plate, just because he could.
"I can't believe a Gryffindor is telling me to play something smart," Tom said with a disdainful little sniff. "Of course, I'm playing it smart, you putz. I'm going along with them but in the meantime I'm waiting in the wings to take them both out when the time is right."
"See? Smart." Harry grinned at Tom while finally stepping away from all the food, plate overloaded. It was so heavy, Harry had to hold onto it with both hands.
"Are you going to eat all that?" Tom asked him in disbelief. "You're getting fat. No, you have been fat for a few years already, but now you're getting even more fat."
"Stop fat shaming me," Harry said with a mock glare. "You know Italian food is a weakness of mine."
"It's the forties, darling," Tom whispered back with a wicked grin. "Fat shaming hasn't been invented yet, so from now on I'm calling you Fat Tony."
"See if I care," Harry said and took an enormous bite of lasagne.
Queens, New York, 1963
It took them seventeen years of plotting and planning but they did it. Right before Harry's son Frankie married Tom's oldest daughter Harrietta, Tom and Harry executed their plan, taking over both their respective families. They'd both been made Captains a few years prior and since then they'd spent days and weeks and months networking and building businesses with other mobsters across the whole country. Harry got heavily involved with several unions, especially anything to do with construction work, because he who controlled the unions ultimately controlled New York. Harry knew in the coming decades construction would be one of the most, if not the most, lucrative business in the Big Apple and this way Harry was sitting right on top of a goldmine.
Tom in the meantime focussed more on gambling and got involved in the founding of Las Vegas, investing in a few hotels and casinos there that earned him a very nice and semi-legal income. Eventually they made so much money and had so many favours owed to them that they were in a position to take over their families, which they did in one bloody night in early May. Tom killed his boss and his own brother Vito, and Harry went after his own boss, who looked at him in confusion when Harry pointed a gun at him after shooting his three bodyguards through the head in quick succession.
"It's nothing personal," Harry assured the boss, who'd always been good to him. "It's just business. You know how it is." Then he pulled the trigger and from then on Harry was the boss of his own successful mafia family.
Lucia got to pick out a luxurious mansion to live in while Harry spent a small fortune on the wedding of his son to Tom's daughter.
While the young couple waltzed across the dancefloor, staring at each other like the lovesick fools they were, Harry leaned over towards Tom and held up a flute of champagne. Tom held up his own and clinked it against Harry's.
"Here's to a successful and productive future," Harry said, which Tom answered with a wide smile.
Later, Harry danced with his new daughter-in-law, who looked radiant in her silk wedding gown, while Mia took Frankie for a spin across the dancefloor. Everyone who was someone in the New York underworld was there to celebrate the wedding, because two families joining together in this way was cause for celebration. Wars between families were always a threat waiting to happen, costing many lives and taking away time and energy that could be spent on making money.
Therefore, since the early 20th century, the New York underworld had been governed by the Five Families in a Commission headed by each of the Families' bosses. Now it was Harry and Tom's turn to sit at that particular table and make decision on how the businesses should be run and how territories should be divided.
"You want us to pay fucking taxes?" Ennio Ferro demanded during their first ever meeting with Tom and Harry attending as the new bosses.
Harry sighed. "They got Capone on tax evasion," he explained for the umpteenth time. "Al Capone was Chicago's biggest, baddest mob boss and the local police or the feds couldn't make anything stick on the guy. Capone was a slippery as an eel, got out of every single charge. Until the IRS came along and got him for tax evasion. The guy died in prison, fucking legend that he was."
"We get what you're saying," Ciro Mangano said while waving his cigar around. "But the IRS got to prove we're making money in the first place if they want to make tax evasion stick."
"You drive a Rolls Royce, Ciro," Harry said with an unimpressed look. "You really think the IRS will believe you when you tell them you hardly turn a profit with the family dry cleaning business?"
Mangano shrugged and smiled before puffing on his cigar.
"I ain't paying the feds a goddamn penny of my hard earned cash," Ennio Ferro said, crossing his arms while giving Harry an incredibly dirty look.
Vinnie Masseria, the oldest and most experienced boss there finally cleared his throat and at once everyone stopped talking to hear what he had to say. If Capote had been a legend, Vinnie Masseria was a deity, and unofficially he was the capo di tutti i capi, the boss of all bosses. When the man spoke, you listened.
"We understand what you are saying, Tony," Vinnie said with a thoughtful tilt of his head, a glass of red wine in his hand. "And we thank you for your concern as to what the feds can get us on. But so far, at least for a few decades, the feds haven't made any moves on our families. At most the local cops get our people on minor charges from time to time and a few soldiers or captains get sent to prison for a few years, but that is part of the game, we all know that."
Harry nodded, sipping his own wine.
"You both own the local police, yeah?" Vinnie asked.
"Yeah, I got every copper in my area on the payroll," Harry said.
"So do I," Tom agreed with a short nod.
"Then there is nothing to worry about for now," Vinnie said, spreading his arms in a gesture of acceptance. "The feds aren't moving on us now, and when they might get that idea in the future, we'll deal with it."
Harry nodded his agreement and beside him, Tom did the same. For now they would hold their tongues on the subject, but in the future they'd bring it up again. Both Tom and Harry were adamant they weren't going to fucking prison for tax evasion after they'd spent decades building a successful criminal empire.
The three other bosses were there for the wedding, and everything seemed to be going well until later in the evening a gunshot rung out over the music and people started screaming.
Both Tom and Harry pulled guns out of their tuxedo jackets and rushed towards the commotion near the front doors of the venue.
Joseph, Tom's oldest son, lay on the floor, white tuxedo jacket slowly colouring red from a gunshot wound to the chest. Tom dropped to the floor at once and held up his son, a young man of just twenty three years old. Joseph's eyes were wide and full of fear and bloody bubbles erupted from between his pale lips and the doctor in Harry knew it was a shot that hit his lungs and that any help would come to late.
Mia came rushing forward, wailing as she dropped to her knees beside Tom, pressing her face against Joseph's bloody chest.
"Who did it?" Harry asked, looking around at the shocked guests. He spotted a few of his soldiers stepping back inside and approached them. "Who was it?"
"We didn't see them, boss," Marco, one of his most trusted soldiers said. "He sat on the back of a motorcycle and was wearing a helmet and he shot Joseph the moment he stepped in front of that open door."
"So he was waiting for him," Harry concluded. Whether it was Joseph personally or any of their kids was anyone's guess. As Harry closed his arms around a crying Lucia he gazed out across the guests and spotted a smug looking Ennio Ferro taking in the whole scene. Yeah, that fucker arranged to have one of their kids killed, Harry was sure of it, simply because Harry and Tom had dared to suggest they pay taxes to keep them from going to prison for the rest of their lives.
On the floor, Tom and Mia held onto their dead child and suddenly that life didn't seem like living in a movie much anymore.
Queens, New York, 1971
"Look at what I found," Harry told Tom the moment he stepped out of his car on Tom's long, elaborate driveway. They owned mansions only a couple of minutes apart, but Harry still drove his Bentley since a lifetime of indulging in Italian food and weighing much more than he should had wrecked his knees and even walking short distances was painful now. In the backseat of his car, his three prized pedigree Italian mastiffs took up all the space and sat drooling all over the place. Harry bred and showed them, because even as a mob boss he needed dogs around him, plus they were so intimidating looking that they made for excellent guard dogs in his own home, even if they were mostly lazy, spoiled things that slept for the majority of the time.
"What did you find?" Tom asked, previous black hair completely grey now and sporting his own potbelly, though he wasn't nearly as corpulent as Harry.
Harry held out a wire with a small microphone attached. "Found it inside my TV. Lucia told me repairmen had stopped by because the TV suddenly acted funny but I didn't trust that one bit."
"So the feds are wire-tapping us," Tom concluded with a nod. "That was to be expected eventually."
Harry sighed and leaned against his car. "Yeah, no more talking business inside anywhere from now on. We'll have to talk while walking. Ugh, and my knees are already killing me."
"Get them replaced," Tom suggested with a shrug.
"It's the early seventies. Surgery is still so barbaric," Harry whined while hobbling after Tom through the garden after releasing his dogs from the car. They hobbled just as much as Harry, lazy things that they were.
"It's not. You'll be fine. You just hate hospitals," Tom said with a smirk and Harry was tempted to stick his tongue out but controlled himself. There were soldiers everywhere around the property as security guards, and Harry had a part to play of intimidating mob boss. It was unbecoming for him to indulge in childish behaviour, no matter how tempting.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll see a doctor." Of course, Harry had no intention of doing such a thing. He truly did hate hospitals, not to mention going in for double knee surgery made him vulnerable, and as a mob boss he couldn't afford to be vulnerable for any amount of time.
"They're going to use the RICO Act to get us," Tom said as they strolled past his pristine rose beds.
"The who the what now?" Harry asked in utter confusion.
"Don't you read the fucking papers?" Tom gave Harry a genuinely annoyed look. "The feds are going to use the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act to bring us all down."
"Yeah, you need to explain that more," Harry said as he stopped walking to sit down on one of the stone benches around the round marble fountain with a small statue of a naked lady holding a fish on top. His dogs lay down around them as well, panting and drooling like it was going out of style.
"The RICO Act was signed into law by the President last year," Tom sat as he slowly lowered himself to the bench beside Harry. "It basically means that if one member of a criminal organization commits a crime, then all members of that organization can be brought up on charges for it."
Harry's mouth slowly sank open. "The Commission. They're going to try to get us through the other three bosses who aren't nearly as careful as we are. They don't even fucking pay taxes, even if we've been telling them to do so for years."
Tom and Harry had taken out Ennio Ferro years before for murdering Tom's son, blaming the hit on a minor mob boss from Las Vegas who proved to be a pain in Tom's ass with a competing casino. With that mob boss gone, Tom had taken over that casino as well and now owned half the strip. He had a whole bunch of nephews and cousins who managed all those businesses for him, since his son was dead and he had three daughters left who had no interest in the family business. Meanwhile, Harry was extorting New York's construction scene, since he pretty much owned all New York unions. If anyone wanted to build anything in any part of New York, they'd better pay Harry a nice little sum of money or else the union workers would go on strike and nothing would get built. Such a simple but very profitable business model that really only hurt rich corporations. Harry loved it.
Ennio Ferro's replacement in The Commission wasn't much smarter than his predecessor and also refused to simply set up a financial model that laundered part of their money and at least made the suggestion that taxes were paid over most of it. Harry and Tom had an elaborate network of shell businesses and international bank accounts to deal with their money, and on some of it, their public bank accounts, they paid taxes so the feds couldn't pin them down for tax evasion.
But now with the RICO Act that might very well have all been in vain if they could be charged with the other bosses' crimes.
"Motherfucker," Harry said in heartfelt frustration after he realized how screwed they really were. "And Vinnie Masseria is a fucking relic who believes he's above every fucking law."
"Yep," Tom sighed, leaning back and gazing up at the clear blue sky. "That man has been at the top of his family for so long and has gotten away with so much that he genuinely believes himself invincible."
"No one is invincible," Harry said with conviction.
"I know." Tom turned to look at Harry. "We need to call a meeting with The Commission and warn them."
"Vinnie is probably just going to tell us the feds can't hurt us when they fucking well can." Harry gave Tom a contemplative look. "How about we get rid of Vinnie and you become the boss of all bosses."
"What?" Tom seemed genuinely surprised by that suggestion.
"We blame it on someone else, of course," Harry said with a careless shrug. "But he needs to go and we need to get the others in line soon or we'll all go down."
Sighing, Tom nodded and got to his feet again. "I'll call a meeting."
Harry stayed for an hour more as they made plans on how to deal with Vinnie Masseria and then he loaded up his dogs and drove home.
The house was dark but the soldiers guarding his property assured him Lucia was home from her shopping trip. Harry found her sitting in the kitchen, all lights turned off. Harry turned them on and realized she looked as pale as a ghost. There was a cold cup of coffee sitting on the table in front of her.
"Lucia? Sweetheart? What's wrong?" Harry pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. He gently placed his hand on her arm.
Without looking at him, Lucia said, "I've been to the doctor a few times for a lump in my breast."
"Oh, sweetheart," Harry said, sliding his arm around her shoulders, but she didn't lean into him like she usually did.
"It's cancer. And the only way they can treat me is by cutting off both my breasts." Lucia bent her head while her shoulders shook with quiet sobs.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Harry pulled her into a tight hug, his heart aching for what he knew Lucia must be going through. Harry himself had once had a double mastectomy in one life when he'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. And it was only 1971. There wasn't much else on offer when it came to treating that kind of cancer. Radiation and chemo therapy were still in their infancy. "We'll get you the best doctors, I promise. And Frankie, Paulie and Luca know the business, they can take over for me for a while."
"I'm so scared," Lucia whispered against his chest.
"I know." And Harry did know. He'd been through cancer diagnoses so many times before, both as patient and as bystander. "We'll get through this, sweetheart, you'll see."
Queens, New York, 1972.
Harry lost his wife the next year. Even with surgery the doctors hadn't been able to prevent the cancer spreading until there was nothing more they could do for her. Lucia was 52 years old when she died, the same age as Harry was. Their fourth grandchild had just been born and their daughter was getting married the next year.
Frankie, Paulie and Luca had taken over more and more of the business as Harry had tried to be there as much as he could for Lucia, especially in her final weeks and days.
Still, his daughter Luna was supremely unhappy with him and let him know right after the funeral as they gathered in Harry's mansion.
"You were never there for her," Luna spat at him, face contorted in anger. "Or any of us."
Harry was genuinely taken aback by her accusations. "What? I was always there when you were little."
"Maybe when Frankie was little, but you ignored the rest of us. Always running off with Big Paul, taking care of your businesses but not your family."
"That's not fair," Harry said, heart pounding in his chests. He'd honestly thought he'd been a pretty good father to his kids and he had made an effort to spend time at home but being a mob boss was busy work.
"For fuck's sake, Dad," Luna said with vicious smile. "Mom spent years fucking her driver and you never even noticed."
"That's enough," Frankie said, quickly grabbing Luna's arm and dragging her away.
"She's just upset," Luca offered with a small, unsure smile. "She's just lashing out."
"Is it true, though?" Harry asked his two sons who were still in the room with him. "Did Lucia…did she really…"
Paulie sighed and shook his head but the look he gave Harry made it clear that it was true, that his wife had an affair right under his nose and Harry had been too busy to even notice.
"Fucking hell." Harry lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. His knees were killing him and he stumbled towards the dining table and pulled out a chair so he could sit.
"I got rid of the driver when I found out," Paulie offered while patting Harry on his shoulder. "He's gone and not coming back."
"Good." Harry wanted to be glad that bastard was dead but honestly, he was in too much shock to really care.
Tom came walking into the room, took one look at Harry and left again, only to return with two glasses of whiskey. "Leave us," Tom told Paulie and Luca and they obeyed after Harry waved them off.
"Lucia was cheating on me," Harry mumbled as he accepted the drink Tom offered him. "I can't believe I never noticed."
"You've been spending more and more time running your business over the last decade or two," Tom said, pulling out a chair for himself. "She probably felt lonely."
"I haven't been a very good husband. Or father," Harry concluded as he wiped a hand across his eyes before taking a fortifying gulp of whiskey.
"You did your best. Our line of work isn't ideal for normal family lives," Tom offered, leaning back in his chair, one arm hooked over the backrest. "One of Mia's favourite hobbies is shouting any grievances she has with me right in my face. And she has plenty."
Harry snorted and released a watery chuckle.
"She loved you, Harry," Tom whispered as he leaned a little closer. "And I don't think she ever stopped loving you, even if she looked for affection and intimacy elsewhere."
"I loved her, too. And I'm going to miss her, I really am." Harry wiped a hand across his eyes again and finished his whiskey.
"I know," Tom said, and he did know and that made Harry feel better, that he wasn't alone in this feeling of grief, that Tom was feeling similar things as Harry was. "Now, are you ready to stage another coup and get rid of Vinnie?"
"Hell yeah," Harry said and got up from his chair, his knees protesting vehemently, but Harry ignored the pain. They had business to attend.
Queens, New York, 1976.
As it turned out, their efforts to dispose of Vinnie Masseria and naming Tom the new boss of all bosses were too little, too late.
The feds arrested the entire Commission, all five bosses, in June of 1976. Harry didn't fight it, just went with it, knowing he had the best criminal defence lawyers on retainer and that they'd get him out on bail as soon as possible.
The judge set bail for one million dollars, but that wasn't a problem for Harry. Or for Tom. They celebrated their release together with dinner at their favourite restaurant, a place called Camparia that served amazing lobster. They finished two bottles of wine between them and talked about everything and nothing until the place was ready to close.
Harry's driver got him home and Harry greeted his mastiffs with lots of hugs and drunken kisses and then managed to get undressed for the most part before crawling into his big, empty bed. Sometimes he really wished he and Tom could just be together, just share a bed for one night. It wasn't even about sex, though Harry enjoyed having sex with Tom plenty. It was about love, plain and simple.
But alas. As mob bosses, there were soldiers around them day and night as protection, so there were eyes on them at all times, and they couldn't indulge in any of the intimacy they both craved. No one in their families would accept a couple of gay mob bosses. It would be suicide, plain and simple.
The phone ringing woke Harry up a couple of hours later.
"Dad?" Frankie asked, sounding disturbingly upset. "Dad? Paul's dead. Big Paul, not our Paulie."
Harry's entire body stiffened while a shiver passed across his back as if someone had doused him in ice-water. Tom was dead. "How? Who did it?"
"He was shot at his mansion. A bunch of shooters broke in, overwhelmed the soldiers and gunned everyone down," Frankie said in a quiet voice. Harry knew he must be hurting, too. Tom had been part of the family for as long as Frankie could remember, was even Frankie's godfather.
"Find out who did it, Frankie. Find out so I can skin the fucker alive." Harry slammed down the phone and buried his face in his hand, sobbing while his shoulders shook. Yes, he would see Tom again, he knew that, but that didn't take away the very real grief that he felt. Their life together, such as it was, had come to an end, and that hurt. That really, really hurt.
Not to mention that whoever did this, whoever murdered Tom, was going to pay. Harry would make sure of it, even if it was the last thing he did in this life.
Frankie called him two days later, while Harry was wallowing in grief and whiskey while lazing on his couch surrounded by snoring mastiffs.
"It was Michael Fucci," Frankie said, not bothering with any greeting.
"One of Paul's Captains?" Harry asked, sobering at once as he sat up in shock. "One of Paul's own Captains whacked him and thought he could get away with it?"
"Yeah," Frankie sighed. "My best guess is that he got worried Paul would cut a deal with the feds to save his own skin while handing them all his captains and soldiers to prosecute."
"Paul would never," Harry said, voice tight in anger. Tom was many things, but he wasn't a fucking traitor to his own people.
"I know," Frankie quickly assured him. "I know he wouldn't have. Michael owns a couple of brothels in Brooklyn. He's there most nights."
"Then I'll be paying him a visit tonight," Harry said and hung up the phone. Time to take a shower and clean his guns.
If Harry thought he'd be able to take off as a lone wolf and enact his vengeance, he was sorely mistaken. All three of his sons showed up just before dinner, bringing Chinese takeout with them.
"We're not letting you do this alone, Dad," Luca said while Paulie set the table and Frankie got beers from the fridge.
"It's going to be dangerous," Harry pointed out while Luca filled Harry's plate with fried rice and sweet and sour pork, his favourites.
"Exactly," Frankie said while he rolled his eyes. "That's why we're coming."
"No, listen," Harry told his sons, his children. He'd made up with Luna a month after Lucia's funeral and he'd walked her down the isle to the altar and he'd welcomed her first child into the family, but he'd always had a tighter bond with his sons, since they were active in the family business. "I'm an old man. I got shitty knees, I'm diabetic and my blood-pressure is sky-high." Harry really had been indulging himself a little too much in all the amazing Italian food around him over many years. "I've had a good life. If something happens to me, so be it. But you've got things to live for."
"So do you," Frankie said, gesturing at the pictures on the wall of Harry's family. Children and grandchildren.
"Yeah, fine, you can come," Harry finally agreed, realizing his kids wouldn't let him go off alone and appreciating their loyalty. He'd raised some fine sons, even if he hadn't been the best dad that time around. "Just stay behind me." That earned him a few snorts and eyerolls, but no objections, so Harry counted that as a win.
Paulie had found out through some of his contacts where Michael Fucci would be that night and they took off just after nine, weapons loaded and at the ready. Harry took a double dose of painkillers so he wouldn't buckle half-way through the hit from his knees killing him, metaphorically speaking.
Harry put two bullets into the heads of the soldiers guarding the door, having no patience for anything other than avenging Tom. They met another couple of soldiers, who Harry dispatched himself. Finally they found Michael, who'd been watching their progression through his brothel on a row of security cameras and who was ready with a Smith and Wesson.
He got one shot off that hit Harry right in the gut, and even Harry's generous belly didn't protect his vital organs from the bullet. But Harry ignored the burning, screaming pain and shot Michael in the gut in return. A shot that would be fatal, but not immediately. He'd suffer for at least ten minutes while he bled out on the inside.
"It was nothing personal," Michael said as he lay on the floor, looking up at Harry with glassy eyes. "Just business."
"Well, this is personal," Harry said, and put another bullet into Michael's gut just to shut him up. And then Harry's knees buckled and hit the floor and his sons were there to sit him up against the wall.
"Dad," Luca said, tears shimmering in his eyes. "We'll call an ambulance."
"No," Harry said. He knew the wound was fatal, and he didn't mind dying, not really. He'd miss his kids and grandkids, but he'd see Tom again, so it was all right. "I'm so proud of you, boys," Harry said, looking from one son to the next. "And Luna, too. Tell her that."
"We will," Paulie promised him with a tremulous smile. "We'll tell her."
"And look after my dogs," Harry managed to say before his throat closed up, the pain in his belly rising up to his chest.
"Of course," Luca whispered, fingers clasped around Harry's shoulder.
And that is how Harry died, surrounded by his sons after killing the scumbag who'd killed Tom. As his vision blackened out while Harry was frantically staring at his sons, committing their features to his memories as best he could, Harry could only hope that their next life was a quieter one.
But that is another life, and another story.